


Turpa Kiinni

by level3puckbunny



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-18
Updated: 2013-01-18
Packaged: 2017-11-25 22:01:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/643407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/level3puckbunny/pseuds/level3puckbunny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Bruins lose to the Preds, Tuukka Rask and Pekka Rinne have some catching up to do. No milk crates were harmed in the writing of this fanfiction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turpa Kiinni

**Author's Note:**

> This is for yummysubculture, whose Finn fetish is the only reason I ever write Tuukka Rask. It's set in the 2013 season, handwaving away the fact that the Preds and the Bruins don't play each other.  
> "Turpa kiinni" means "shut up" in Finnish.

            Pekka was heading out of the TD Garden after a win against the Bruins, chatting amiably with Mike Fisher, when he saw a tall, thin figure down an adjacent hallway. The figure was slumped over, leaning up against a wall, and Pekka looked over at Mike.

            “I’ll be back in a second.” Mike followed Pekka’s gaze.

            “Going to comfort your countryman?” he said knowingly. Pekka didn’t answer as he jogged down the corridor.

            “Rask.” Tuukka didn’t lift his head as Pekka came up to him. “You all right?” The shift into Finnish had been natural, but also served to make the moment feel oddly intimate, which was exacerbated by the fact that they were alone in a hallway in the depths of the Garden and Tuukka looked like someone had just murdered his kitten.

            “What do you think?” Tuukka asked, his voice flat.

            “It wasn’t your fault,” Pekka told him. “Marchand should know what the fuck net to shoot at, it’s not like you were expecting him to tip it past _you_.”

            “I think you should go get on your bus now,” Tuukka said evenly, “and stop talking shit about my team.”

            “You know as well as I do that this happens sometimes,” Pekka said. “Seriously. Bad losses are part of the game.”

            “Thank you, Rinne, for that excellent advice,” Tuukka said, finally raising his head to look Pekka in the eye, and it was as they made eye contact Pekka realized that he wasn’t dejected. He was _furious._

            “Look,” Pekka said, trying to be reasonable, “I’m not saying it doesn’t suck, because it does. It’s just that between this and the milk crates-”

            Almost before Pekka realized what was happening, Tuukka straightened up and shoved him, hard, into the opposite wall. Pekka hit it hard with his shoulder, and he was just about to start shouting at Tuukka—what the fuck did he think he was doing, anyhow?—when Tuukka pinned him up against the wall.

            “Calm down,” Pekka said, holding up his hands. “Calm the fuck down, Rask.” Tuukka just leaned further into him, pressing him into the concrete.

            “Do you think that just because you’re _older_ ,” Tuukka spat, “and more _seasoned, experienced_ , that you can just waltz in here and start acting like—for fuck’s sake, Rinne, I don’t need you to be my goddamn spiritual guide or whatever.” Tuukka leaned further in, and Pekka could feel his breath, warm on his face. “Fuck you,” he said, enunciating the Finnish curse perfectly.

            “Okay,” Pekka said, because this was starting to grow out of hand. “Okay. How about you just take a couple steps back, Rask, okay? Because we are both mature adults, and fighting would be really, really immature. Okay?”

            “Okay,” Tuukka said mockingly, but he didn’t step back.

            “You’re not _really_ trying to start a fight, are you?” Pekka said, somewhat disbelievingly. “Because I’m pretty sure the Bruins can’t risk having Khudobin as their starting goalie.”            

            “Oh, you’re that certain you’d win,” Tuukka said on a laugh, and in answer Pekka shoved at his shoulders, trying to flip their positions. It turned out that despite the fact that Tuukka was skinny, he was wiry and very strong, and what Pekka had expected would be easy turned into an outright scuffle. Somehow Pekka’s knee ended up between Tuukka’s legs, and as he was considering kneeing Tuukka in the groin (it seemed like decided overkill until Tuukka’s bony-as-fuck elbow caught him in the stomach, after which Pekka kind of just wanted to end him) he realized something.

            Either Tuukka was still wearing a cup under his pants, or he found sort-of-fighting with Pekka much, much more interesting than he was willing to let on.

            Pekka froze, staring down at Tuukka, who paused when he realized Pekka had stopped struggling to look up at him.

            “Giving up?” he asked, and experimentally Pekka pressed his thigh upwards into Tuukka’s crotch. The gasp that drew from Tuukka was enough to convince Pekka that he wasn’t imagining things. Pekka did it again, and again, and Tuukka tried to squirm away but Pekka’s hands on his shoulders held him in place. “Rinne-” Tuukka sounded kind of breathless and decidedly angry. Pekka was annoyed with himself at how hot he found that.

            “Shut your goddamn mouth,” Pekka said, and then he kissed him.

            Tuukka made a noise of protest and wrenched away, leaving the two of them staring at each other, before Pekka grinned.

            “Denial is unflattering on you, Rask.”

            “I’m not-” Pekka arched an eyebrow as he rubbed his thigh against Tuukka’s hard-on, and Tuukka’s eyes slid down as he swallowed the rest of whatever he’d been about to say.

            “Come on,” Pekka said, letting go of Tuukka’s shoulders. “There are two ways that this can go. You can tell me to fuck off, and I’ll go back to the hotel and we’ll pretend this never happened. Or, you can man up, I’ll text Fisher and tell him to have the bus leave, we’ll go back to your place and deal with that tent in your pants. Pick.” Tuukka stared at Pekka for a long, long moment, before stepping back.

            “Text Fisher,” he said. “Don’t want to keep the bus waiting.” Pekka grinned triumphantly and fished the phone out of his pocket.

_Getting a drink with Rask, be back later._

            He turned his phone off and put it back in his pocket, before looking down at Tuukka.

            “Where’s your car?”

            “Follow me,” Tuukka said, and obligingly Pekka followed him out into the Garden’s parking lot.

            “Really, Rask?” Pekka said when Tuukka stopped next to a black Ferrari. “This doesn’t bode well for the size of your-”

            “Stop talking,” Tuukka said sweetly as he unlocked the car, and Pekka grinned as he got inside. It was gorgeous, but Ferraris reached a level of impractical that even Pekka wouldn’t stoop to. “New contract,” Tuukka explained as he started the car, and the growl of the engine was pretty sexy, Pekka had to admit.

            “Really? This is how you celebrated your _one-year_ contract?” Tuukka shot him a sidelong look.

            “Just because you willingly agreed to spend the rest of your glory days in fucking Nashville _doesn’t_ mean that the rest of us have to bend over and sign NTCs for whoever offers the biggest wad of cash.” Pekka decided it would be a good plan to completely ignore the thinly veiled hooker metaphor, considering that if he punched Tuukka in the throat the car might crash and wrecking a Ferrari would send him straight to hell.

            “You’d bend over for $49 million too,” he said, and that made Tuukka actually laugh.

            “True.”

            “You’ve been playing well this season, anyway, you know Chiarelli’s going to try and pin you down for a while.”

            “While I’m not going to object to meaningless flattery, it’s utterly pointless. I’m going to fuck you no matter what.”

            “I know,” Pekka said with a grin. “You’re pretty transparent.” It might have been the red light they were currently stopped at, but Pekka was pretty sure he saw Tuukka flush. The rest of the ride passed in silence.

            Tuukka’s apartment was in a high-rise building near the river, and he unlocked the door to show Pekka in.

             “Well, this is bleak,” Pekka said as he shrugged his coat off and ditched it on the couch. “Would it kill you to have a picture or two on the walls?”

            “I didn’t realize you would care so much about my décor, or I’d have bought a poster,” Tuukka said as he tossed his coat down on top of Pekka’s. “Well?”

            “Hm?” Pekka asked, watching as Tuukka stood there, his arms awkwardly hanging at his sides. He liked that look of uncertainty on Tuukka’s face. “Well, what?” Tuukka made an annoyed noise.

            “Come on, Rinne, are you waiting for me to offer you a drink? I thought we were on the same page here.” In answer, Pekka took off his blazer and tie, before kicking off his shoes and toeing off his socks.

            “I’m not thirsty,” he said, and Tuukka followed his lead, starting to undress as well. Pekka undid his belt quickly and stepped out of his pants before unbuttoning his shirt, watching with marked pleasure at the way Tuukka’s fingers were fumbling ineptly with the buttons to his. He was far more nervous than he wanted to let on, and that pleased Pekka deeply. “How long has it been?”

            “What are you talking about?” Tuukka asked, more defensively than was necessary, and Pekka laughed.

            “That long?” Tuukka’s shirt finally fluttered to the floor, and Pekka was able to survey his mostly naked body. He could actually count Tuukka’s ribs, which was a little unnerving, but his eyes were instantly drawn to the bulge in his boxer briefs. Glancing up, he saw Tuukka was examining him with the same level of interest. “I’m surprised. I figured since you and that girl—what was her name?”

            “Jasmiina,” Tuukka snapped. That was clearly a raw nerve.

            “Well, I figured that since you and she broke up-”

            “How did you find out about that?” Tuukka demanded.

            “The grapevine.”

            “Tell Mikko to stay the fuck out of my love life.” Pekka laughed aloud. If the Russians had Ovechkin as their gossipmonger, the Finns had Koivu.

            “He was concerned. Apparently rightfully so.” Tuukka glared. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Everyone goes through dry spells, it’s-”

            “Shut the fuck up,” Tuukka said, and before Pekka could even open his mouth to mock him further Tuukka grabbed his shoulders and yanked him into a kiss. Even pissed off, it turned out Tuukka was quite a good kisser, although he was way more aggressive than Pekka was used to with the lovely young women of Nashville. Pekka just kissed him back, refusing to admit even to himself that he was really fucking enjoying every second of this, and then Tuukka’s fingers skated down his chest to hook in the waistband of his boxers. He broke the kiss only to smile at Tuukka.

            “Go on, then,” he said, and Tuukka kissed him again as he tugged Pekka’s boxers down to get a hand around his cock. Pekka made a surprised noise in the back of his throat—God only knew why, it wasn’t like he hadn’t known this was the path they were on—and Tuukka pulled back to laugh at him as he jacked Pekka’s cock just this side of roughly.

            “Feels good?” he asked mockingly, and Pekka opened his mouth to say some choice Finnish profanities when Tuukka did something with a flick of his wrist. Pekka actually couldn’t hold back his moan. “I see.”

            “Stop,” Pekka said, knocking Tuukka’s hand away. Tuukka looked up at him, and Pekka could see on his face that he was genuinely concerned that he’d done something wrong. This flash of insecurity was incredibly hot, and Pekka kissed Tuukka again to dispel any worries that he’d changed his mind. “Where the fuck is your bedroom?”

            “This way,” Tuukka said, and Pekka followed him through the apartment.

            Once they got into Tuukka’s bedroom Pekka backed him into the mattress and kissed him deep and thorough as he got Tuukka’s boxer briefs off, and then it was Tuukka leaning on the mattress for support as Pekka stroked his cock. He had his teeth sunk into his bottom lip and was tilting his head back, and Pekka couldn’t resist the temptation to lick and bite along his exposed neck. When he nipped at Tuukka’s pulse point Tuukka made a nearly inaudible, positively _vulnerable_ noise, and Pekka had to swallow and close his eyes to keep from shoving him over on the bed and fucking him senseless that very second. He tried it again, sucking a little after, and he got that noise out of Tuukka again, like it was wrenched from some part deep inside him.

            “Fuck,” Pekka breathed, wholeheartedly. “Oh, _fuck_.”

            It was pretty easy to push Tuukka over onto the mattress—his knees were fabulously unsteady, and Pekka was strong—and Pekka climbed on top of him, pinning Tuukka down as he did his damnedest to give Tuukka a massive hickey.

            “Pekka,” Tuukka gasped. “Pekka— _oh-_ ” His voice faltered when Pekka chose that moment to rock his hips down into Tuukka’s, but he took a deep breath and kept talking. “I think if you don’t fuck me soon, Khudobin _will_ be the Bruins’s starter—oh, _Jesus-_ ” He was momentarily sidetracked by another delicious movement of Pekka’s hips, but doggedly kept talking. “He’ll be the starter, because I’ll have gone to prison for killing you.”

            “Can’t have that,” Pekka said, amused. “Where’s your lube?”

            “Nightstand.” Pekka got off Tuukka only to rummage around in his nightstand drawer, coming up with a condom and some KY.

            “Do I need to check the expiration date, or-”

            “Shut up and prep me,” Tuukka told him, and Pekka grinned, leaning down to kiss Tuukka thoroughly before uncapping the lube and slicking his fingers up.

            “Have to say, I never pictured you as a bottom,” he commented, sliding in one finger and watching the way Tuukka squirmed a little. “You’re too much of a fucking control freak.”

            “Who says I’m not in control?” Tuukka retorted, but Pekka liked the way he was a bit breathless already. Pekka slid in a second finger in response, and Tuukka let out a long breath. This was going to be fun.

            “It’s okay to let go sometimes,” Pekka said generously. “There's no shame in that.”

            “You talk too much,” Tuukka said. “Not in bed. In general.” Pekka kissed him as he fingered him slowly, adding a third when he thought Tuukka had loosened up enough. That earned Pekka the faintest curse breathed into his mouth as Tuukka’s hand tightened where it had been resting on Pekka’s bicep.

            “You’re awfully chirpy considering I’ve got three fingers in your ass,” Pekka pointed out. “It’s almost like you’re not in control and you don’t quite know how to handle it.”            

            “Psychoanalyzing much, Rinne?” Tuukka shot back, and Pekka grinned as he slipped his fingers in deeper, starting to scissor and curl them as he looked for Tuukka’s prostate.

              “I liked it when you called me Pekka,” he said, watching as suddenly Tuukka arched off the bed with a gasp. _Excellent_. “You should do it more often.”

            “Do that again,” Tuukka demanded, and Pekka arched an eyebrow, waiting. Tuukka met his eyes and smiled a little, wavery from arousal but still sharp. “Pekka.” There was something about hearing his name said like that, not only colored with need but pronounced perfectly and with a Finnish accent, that was so fucking sexy to him.

            “Very good, Tuukka,” he said, knowing he sounded smug and figuring he had enough reason to be. He crooked his fingers against that spot again, and Tuukka moaned deeply. His eyes were closed and his cheeks were two hot spots of pink, and Pekka pulled his fingers out and reached for the condom. His fingers were shaking a little as he put it on, and thank God Tuukka’s eyes were closed because Pekka was pretty sure if he’d noticed that Pekka would never hear the end of it. “Hands and knees,” he said, and Tuukka rolled over and got up as Pekka settled in kneeling behind him, rubbing his hands over Tuukka’s back. “Ready?”

            “Can you just fuck me now?” Tuukka said, his voice affecting boredom, and in answer Pekka thrust inside. “Oh, _fuck_!” Pekka had to smile at that, even though he could feel his higher brain functions slipping away. Tuukka was hot and tight and felt pretty close to perfect, and Pekka held himself still with a large degree of effort in an attempt to give Tuukka time to adjust to the feeling of a dick in him. He wasn’t sure if Tuukka had ever done this before, and he didn’t want to risk hurting him.

            “Tuukka?” Pekka asked eventually, his voice tight. “You all right?”

            “Waiting on you,” Tuukka replied, his voice sounding all torn up already. Pekka said a small prayer to whatever deity controls these things that he’d be able to last more than a minute, and then, slowly at first, he started to thrust. If Pekka had enjoyed the quiet noises Tuukka had made when he’d worked on his neck, the sounds he was making right then were ten times better. He was gasping, keening, moaning, clearly trying to muffle himself and having little luck. Pekka paused for a second, buried deep inside him, and leaned down to kiss his shoulderblade. Tuukka bit back a whimper.           

            “Do me a favor,” Pekka said, “and stop being so quiet, okay? I like loud. It helps my ego.”

            “Like your ego really needs help,” Tuukka gasped out, and Pekka had to laugh. Apparently Tuukka was still chirpy even when he was getting fucked. Pekka pulled out and then slammed back in with more force than he’d used before, and Tuukka cried out, not in the least bit quietly.

            “Now you’ve got the idea,” Pekka said, and fell into a steady, hard rhythm. He was trying to tilt his hips a bit, looking for Tuukka’s prostate, and Tuukka helped the quest by dropping down onto his elbows. Suddenly Pekka thrust and Tuukka shouted something utterly unprintable in Finnish, his head dropping as he rocked back to meet Pekka’s thrusts. Pekka wished passionately that he could think of something to mock Tuukka with, but his brain was so fogged over from the way Tuukka had sounded when Pekka had nailed his prostate that all the clever was gone.

            “Again, again,” Tuukka was saying desperately, and for once Pekka did exactly what Tuukka said.

            In the quiet afterwards, Pekka lay there faceup trying to will his heartbeat to return to something like normal, listening to Tuukka panting next to him. Tuukka was the one to break the silence.

            “I get to fuck you next time, right?” Pekka didn’t open his eyes to answer.

            “So you think we’ll do this again.”

            “Well, judging by the way you screamed my name when you came, I think you enjoyed yourself, so why not?” Pekka had to admit that was a good point. “Has anyone else ever told you that your voice gets all high-pitched when you come? Because it sounds outright stupid.”

            “At least I don’t whimper like a kicked puppy,” was the only thing Pekka could think of to say, and Tuukka laughed at him as he curled up under Pekka’s arm.

            “You don’t mean that. You think it’s hot.”

            “Maybe,” Pekka said obliquely. “Okay. Let’s do this again.” Tuukka kissed Pekka’s chest.

            “Pekka.”

            “Hm?” Pekka reached over to pull some of the blankets over the two of them. He was already half-asleep.

            “It’s cute that you get off from hearing me say your name.”

            “Tuukka?”

            “Hm?”

            “Shut up.” 


End file.
